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GALLAHERS INDEPENDENT, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT QUITMAN, GA., BY J. C. G A L L A H E R. TKiois or subscription i TWO DOLLARS per Annum in Advance. V E It A. The train stopped. Tho conductor shouted “Holmes’ Hill." It was an ex press train, about to fly on agniu iramedi utoly; and Vera had scarcely time to bid adieu to stiff old Mrs. Murray and to be helped out by Mr. Murray, who had been her protectors on the journey. A cnrrii g ■ ■was waiting at a little distance—an old fashioned affair, that looked like a small caravan. “Is that Miss Nesbitt’s carriage ?” Mr. Murray asked of one of the porters. •‘Yes, sir." “Come, then, my dear, there’s no time to lose,” said the old gentleman, hastening ■with Vera to the carriage, Speaking to the coachman and giving directions to a por ter about the luggage, “tloodby once more, Miss Vera ! 1 hope we shall hoar good reports of your health —and —and of ull the rest.” He was gone before Vera conld thank hint for his good wishes, even had she de sired;' but she did not. She was too much Vend at that last hesitating clause. Shi' was sure now that her mamma had told him and Mrs. Murray the whole story. This was what had made him roll up his , eyes and quqf#Dr. Watts and talk vaguely about the .horrible siu of disobeying one’s > pastors audjmasters. Well, they were gone, anyway. Now for Auut Nesbitt. Vera sat in the ancient chariot and waited while her luggage was ; fastened on behind. She heard the men wear about one box, and it was Anally de cided that it should he left and sent over ; later by “Bobbie Crutch.” Her consent j •van not even asked by Miss Nesbitt’s w il ful old servant. Vera felt this to bean ad ditional indignity. Perhaps even he knew! | Perhaps Miss Nesbitt could no more keep | anything to herself than mamma. The carriage drove oft Vera leaned | back in her seat, unhappy enough, but: just for the moment more sulky than mis erable. Her natural guardians were not j content with breaking her heart; they i uinst needs make her ridiculous. Up bill and down; over a passable road, through pretty scenery turd cultivated fields, with pleasant woodlands in the fore ground and a long sweep of lofty hills be yond—bouuie hills of the bouuie land. That, was uixat Vera savn as the fat horses trotted leisurely. Many girls iu her state uf mind would haro regretted that the Country had not been desolate and bare; but Vera was neither sentimental nor silly. Because she could not have all she wanted in the world she felt to be no rea son why she should avoid any chance pleasantness which flight come iu her way. Thus the carriage drew near Miss Nes bitt's. Vera saw' an old fashioned red brick house, with wide spreading wings, half hidden among tine tall oedurs and other trees. Driving through the avenue, the coach man drew up his horses at the hull steps. Out al the ionise came a tall, erect, elderly lady, rather a handsome one, with a suf ficiently kindly face, had it not been for the satirical expression of the mouth and the sharp gleam of the grey eyes. Vera had never seen this relative, her mother’s aunt, but trace, and that was some years before. She looked eagerly at this new jailer, as she mentally called her. “Howdo you do, Vera?” said Miss Nesbitt, holding out her hand to welcome the young lady, and speaking with as much matter-of-fact composure as though she hud parted with her ouly yesterday. “Drive round w ith the luggage, Thomas; it mnst be takeu lip the back stairs.” Thomas touched his horses, and they disappeared round the side of the house. Miss Nesbitt turned again to Vera. “Hum 1” said she, “Your eyes are not red. I expected you to arrive drowned iu tears. Both your sisters did.” “I am sorry to disappoint you, aunt; I seldom indulge iu tears,” replied Vera, with stately coolness.. There was an amused, rather approving look iu the elder woman’s eyes, which Vera did not notice. “You are the third,” she continued. “I have liud one visit iu turn from each of my grand nieces.” Vera, completely at odds with the world just then, looking upon most people, and especially her aunt, as her natural enemies, felt so irritated by tlio sarcastic smile ou the thin lips that she could not resist throwing tho gauntlet down at once. ■“Have you ever had any other prison ers, Aunt Nesbitt?” “Oh, no,” ropUed tin: old lady, i>er fectly unmoved. “Mine is a very private madhouse indeed, reserved exclusively lor my affectionate young relatives.’’ She laughed sis she spoke. Vera could not help laughing also. "Good !” said Aunt Nesbitt. “Make haste with your toilet; luncheon is on the the table. I must oat, at all events.” “So must I,” said Vera. “I am dread fully hungry, and the journey was a long one. I will just throw off*my hat and cloak here.” Aunt Nesbitt nodded her head us she led the way to the dining room, ruminat ing. ‘’This girl is made of different stuff from her bisters,” thought she. “Veron ica Nesbitt, she reminds me of you iu the (Old, old days.” They sat down to table. The lunch eon was excellent, and Vera ate with an .excellent appetite, talking occasionally. “You are not a bit like a heroine,” ob served Aunt Nesbitt. “You will find me quite enough of one,” said Vera. “Do you mean that os a threat ?” asked her aunt. “No,” said Vera; “I did mean to be dis- ; agreeeuble, but I made up my mind last night that it would be silly. I should j punish myself more than you, aunt, so I intend to make the best of life hero that I can.” “It is very dull here.” “I shall not mind that for a while.” “But you are to stay here until you are cured. ” Vera smiled slightly. “I understand; you think you are likely to stay always,” said Auut Nesbitt. “So \ did Jane when she first came; she stayed ! three montlis. “So did Josephine; she; held out five. Imagine w'hat I must be j like.” “I should say it was you who got tired ! of them, ” returned Vera. “You found: husbands for them both.” “Yes; rich Mr. Musters happened to j come this way that year, and he fell in | love with Jane. Jane decided that dia- j mends and riches were worth more than the future love iu a cottage she had been dreaming of. ” “And Josephine turned to good works j acd maii'iod uue id your parsons. : . /- - - ■ 7, VOL. 11. “Yes; and I was more glad of that mar j riago than the other. 1 wonder who will ! carry yon off?” “So do I,” retorted Vera, incipient do ; flauee in her tone. “Oh, dear!” sighed Aunt Nesbitt. | "Hero comes Maria,” she added, as a mid i die aged maid ■appeared. “Perhaps you ! would like to go and see your prison evil. | Maria, show Miss Raymond her rooms." A large, pleasant bedroom and a dress ing room, handsomely furnished in an old-fashioned way, with a lovely lookout from the windows. Maria was in ecstasies at Miss Raymond's praise of the rooms j and the place altogether, asked for her keys and began taking the thiugs out of! | her trunks. Vera sat down by one of the ! dressing room windows, leaned her elbows ion the sill and gazed wistfully out over ' I the grand nud “banning scene. Suddenly site felt the lialf-bitter, half bewildered composure, which had suppor ; ted her during the journey and the inter view, begin to give way. She closed, the,, | door into tho bedroom, where Maria was still busy, turned the key softly and let i her hysterical passion of tears have its I course. She, .wept for a while as if her ; heart were bursting, careful to restrain the i sound of her sobs. Presenting a reaction j set in. | “There! I think I have cried enough,” ; she said, with an odd little choking sound, I meant to be a laugh. “1 have been keep : ing it in for a whole day umfnight.” A fatality seemed to attend the Ray mond family. Before Vera, two sisters had, ill turn, been exiled for the same of j fence which she had committed- -a deter ; urination to love the wrong luau. An nn | pardonable sin in Mrs. Raymond's creed | •—their mother. Vera could remember when the oldest i sister, Jane, was sent to Aunt Nesbitt’s ; dwelling. She was thirteen then. Hater, ! Josephine was despatched. As Vera grew up she vowed that no such destiny should overtake her. The very rapidity with which her sisters had recovered from tile 1 dreams and trouble of their first love, and j come hack home engaged girls, soon to be ! married, had excited the wonder of Vera; j but she thought they must be very sensi- . ble. At eighteen Vera came out, Mrs. Raymond delighted in her. Vera was her j favorite child, and Vera seemed to care | only for riches and the desirable pomps of! life; no fear that she would bu tailing in loin with the wrong man. Some wonderful fxirti made his nppear anoe in society, nud Mrs. Raymond de termined that lie should fall a prey to Ve ra's charms. The girl made a grand sue- j cess. She was the beauty of the season; j had a crowd of admirers always about her. Her witticisms were quoted; her singing j and dancing pronounced adorable; her | fair-haired beauty was unsurpassed. , She flirted outrageously; her mother did not Uiiml that; it would only serve to j excite the rich Mr. Osborne; he for whom j .Mrs. Raymond launched into extravagance 1 that she could ill afford. Mr. Osborne struggled against his fate, as eligible men, ! who have learned to la-liovc themselves! hunted by pretty *iils and '.. atch making ! mother, are wont to do, ..id then fill a hopeless victim. Mrs. Raymond had no i fears; she was sure that when ho proposed Vera would accept him. Mr. Osborne made, the mother his confidante. He wished, before addressing Vera, to be cer tain that she had learned to euro for him. The foolish man wanted to lie loved by his future wife! Mrs. Raymond acquiesc'd, and throw them much together. Alas ! A short while and the horrified Mrs. Raymond discovered that. Vera, like her sisters had done, was “making a fool of herself." bile had fallen in love with that handsome young fellow, Moore lliv ington; a man of good family and all that, but poor as a church mouse. Falling in love was not the worst of it; they wore se cretly engaged. Mrs. 1{ 13 murid did not fly into a rage; she only talked reason, laughed and car ried Vera off on a round of visits, ending with a sojourn at a fashionable w atering place, where Vera was made a queen of. And she enjoyed her sovereignty so much that her mot er believed that Mr, Os borne’s victory was to be an easy one. But her short-lived hopes received a second fall. Mr. Osborne proposed to Vera and was refused. Some other eligi ble man proposed also, and he shared the same fate. Mrs. Raymond went nearly out of her mind; but itwas no avail. Vera did not Shrink and moan, us her sisters had done; neither threatened, like them, to go into a ritualistic convent or kill her self. “I only love Moore Ri vington,’’she said I with a cold composure that her mother j called obstinacy. “It would be a sin to j many another man. I will not doit.” And Mr. Moore ltivington said the same ; thing on his own part to Mrs. Raymond, i Vera was impervious to anger, sneers, j prayers. She grew pale and thin, but she would not yield. Mr. Osborne she would not have; it should bo Moore ltivington I or nobody. “You shall go over the border to your ! Aunt Nesbitt’s,” cried Mrs. Raymond in ! despair. “She soon brought Jane and | Josephine to their senses, and she shall i bring you to yours. ” So that was how the exile to Annt Nes bitt's was brought about, She was a very rich, whimsical, tyrannical old maid, as Mrs. Raymond had always believed. Vera had seen her years before,and had thought her a terrrible woman, quite awful for severity. Miss Nisbett never visited her niece, Mrs. Raymond, and only permitted visits from her at rare intervals. She told ! her, with the charming frankness common ! to rich relations, that if she (Mrs. ltay | inond) were not the most tremenduous j fool in the world she would have been the greatest rogue, for she had not a bit of true honor. Still she sent her money sometimes, and Mrs. Raymond bore her cynicisms for the sake of the material aid. So now, in the midst of the bountiful September month, Vera was under the old lady’s roof; but her reception made her I hope that, after all, life would be made j more endurable than when exposed to her mother’s petty persecutions. Aunt Nis- j bitt looked as determined as a rock, capa- I .ble of passing sentence on ft guilty person j and banging the criminal with her own j hands; but slic evidently would attempt no small tyranny, and Vera could bear , anything bettor than nagging. Her moth- j er was an adept at that. Vera did not see her aunt again until dinner time. She appeared in the dining | room its carefully dressed as if she had ex- t pected to meet a dozen people. Miss Nis- | bitt had also dressed. The old lady talked cheerfully, as she j might to any young lady visitor; and ( Vera thoroughly enjoyed'her quaint sU> -, QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 1874. ! l ies and sarcastic views of men and w< men ! ill general. “Hum !” said the old lady, at last, “I . think you must mean mischief, mademoi selle my niece.” "You said all gitls meant it,” said j Vera. "Jane went about in a dressing gown with lier lmir down her back for a week,” , pursued the old lady. “Hho looked very like Juliet. She lepeatcd poetry and strolled out at night to stare at tlm moon. The only result was a cold iu tho head, | succeeded by a swollen face." j *Ahl am too vain to run those risks,’’ ! said Vera. “Josephine had hysterics at all kinds of unseasonable hours,” continued Aunt. Nis- I bitt, “She lived on green tea without j milk; and thought she must poison herself with red ink. Once my maid woke me in the middle of tho night to say that MisH Raymond was standing at the open stair ease window, threatening to throw herself •down, the housekeeper, iu tears,) holding her back. “What did you do ?" asked Vera. “Went up stairs—sent tlieservats down. ‘Yon shan’t stop me, I will die’ shrieked ' the honorine. ‘Hie,’ said I, ‘why not ?! ttoodby, my love 1 nope wo shall meet in heaven! Come! why don’t you jump ?”’ I Vua laughed. “What next, aunt ?” “.She did not attempt to do it; slio fainted instead on tho window seat—or , pretended to. 1 pinched her and shook! her and slapped her, all to bring her to. j Up she got; flew into her room like a lamp fighter, and locked the door. She never I got me out of bed again in the middle of [ the night, J assure you. ” “It is plain that 1 cannot d<nuytlringin , tho romantic line,” observed Vera. “1 will j not copy either of them, I must think of something original,” Tho evening passed very well. The pleasant calm was a relief, after all Vera hud gone through with her mother. She made tea for Miss Nisbiit, she played the piano at her request, reud aloud, and was \ sent to bed early. Vera had told herself she would not ! weep again for a long time; but she passed ; a bad night nevertheless. Would they be all too strong for her? A day or two elapsed. Not another word spoke Miss Nesbitt about the matter that had sent Vera to her care. One morning the letters came in while they were at, breakfast. Miss Nesbitt looked to ! see if the girl seemed disappointed be cause there were none for her. “Vera,” said she, “few women can keepnpromise. Can you?” A strung,' smile f'i'ted over Vera’s lips. Aunt Nesbitt understood that it meant, “I have made one promise 1 mean to keep." Miss Nesbitt considered a little. Was this just girlish obstinacy, or was it a wo man’s firm resolve, ? Vera,” she continued, “I hate to be, bored by watching anil spying. Will you engaged neither to receive letters from nor to send any to that nice young man of yours, who lias caused all this trouble ?” “I had to promise that I would write to let him know where I am, and I must perforce keep the promise,’ answered , Vera with flashing eyes and quivering lips, j “1 have some honor within mo, Aunt Nes bitt.” “Should he find out where you arc mul come here, will you promiso not to hold any stolen intcryeiw ?” “1 would sieliim if T could,” replied j Vera, quietly. “But you need not be afraid. Ho has gone to India?” “(lone to India ?” “When the explosion came ho said it j was tho only thing loft for him to do. Somebody undertook to get him a berth there. ” “Ah, yes 1” cried Aunt Nesbitt. “The old story ! He is to make a fortune and come back. Bet me see—-you may expect to meet him when you are about forty two.” “I can wait,” said Vera. “Though it is moru probable you will hear of his return in a year and a half with an heiress for a wife,” added Miss Nesbitt, opening her letters. “Did any man ever treat you so ?” de manded Vera, too angry to think what might be the consequnces of arousing the old lady’s anger. Miss Nesbitt laid down her letter, leaned her hands on the table, and looked her niece through and through with her steeley gray eyes. “Yes,” she answered slowly; “a man did treat mo so; exactly in that way. Are. you satisfied now ? Will you admit that I have some right to doubt young , men— young women too ?” “I beg pardon !” exclaimed the impul sive girl. “Indeed, lam sorry !” “There’s no harm done,” said Miss Nesbitt, in an odd tone. “Vera, you are the only human being that ever heard my secret. I don’t know why I answered yon. I ought to have boxed your ears.” “I wish you would 1 deserve it,” cried Vera. “I never box anybody’ ears unless they I tread on Seraph’s tail,” said Aunt Nesbitt, I stroking the head of a beautiful Angora i eat, that sat on,a chair by her side. “But ! I am sixty-two—women don’t have feel ings at that age. It is only pretty Juliets of eighteen who can indulge in such lux ries.” Vera could not decido at that moment j whether she liked or detested Aunt Nes -1 bitt; at all events she was suddenly inter ; ested iu her. b'.o wished she dared ask j questions about tbo long-lost romance which Vera felt held a profound tragedy under it. “I was very rude,” sbo said. “I have grown irritable. I —l have had good deal to make me so.” Miss Nesbitt quite believed that, know ing well Mrs. Raymond’s talents in the science of napping. “We will pot quarrel while you stay, Vera,” was all her answer. “How long will you keep me ?” asked Vera. Miss Nesbitt shrugged her shoulders, and the old provoking, ironical expression crossed her face. “Until you are cured were the orders of your mother. But I have neither a Mr, Musters nor any other desirable gentle man on band at present.” “It is rather a gloomy prospect for you, Aunt Nisbett.” "I never despair.” “I shall be twenty one in less than three years,” observed Vera. “Just so,” riplied her great-aunt. “What then ?” “I shall have some money of my own. I can set up a school and make more.” “That would be dreadfully prosaic,” sighed Miss Nesbitt. “You had better many Mi* U-buine. “I can’t have two husbands. I mean to 1 marry Moore ltivingtou 1” Her voice fal ! tered a little over the name. “Just so,” said her aunt. “Refrine see, i Ky the time you are forty-seven you can write and tell him you have made "so much money, yon arc quite rich. “I should do so,” replied Vera. “But it may come before then. If not lie will wait for me.” Aunt Nesbitt took up a newspaper, and seemed busy with it. She was secretly watching the girl. How tho sight of her brought her own youth back ! Vera was so like what she had been it was like j watching the ghost of her own girlhood to look at tier. Presently Miss Nesbitt rose and left the room in silence. Blie wanted to be alone. The iron oomposuro which life laid taught her hud uot been so shaken for years. “If they could both hold firm," she said to herself. “But that is impossible. A lifetime of working and waiting !” Three months sped away. Aunt and niece got on very well together; at least each had learned to like the other; but there was never any demonstration of affection. I should employ a stronger word where old Veronica Nesbitt was con cerned. Her heart lmd softened towards the girl us it had not done of lute years to any human creature. She took pleusure in her beauty; slio admired her talents and her resolute character; she fairly won dered at her own fondness, but she made no sign. And Vera ? T think you can imagine what she hufieri and; hut she suffered like a strong woman, not a girl. Indeed, many jof her age would have decided she could have no heart, slio fought so gallantly and ! persistently against her pain, shewing it not. She would not give way; she would struggle through I She made for herself every amusement and interest possible. She took tip the studies of her school life again, and vague notions of growing rich by them in some way or other did run in her heart. But, nevertheless, her unto ward fate, her disappointment and her isolated existence told upon her. She grew thin and pale, was unable to eat, and passed night after night in sleepless mis ery. She. must keep tier beauty; it was dOnr to her, because lie prized it I She would not grow bony and haggard and old I He would come to her at last,; lie should find that the years had no more changed her fuoo than they had her heart. But still those years seemed so far us to fill her with dismay. “Aunt Nesbitt,” she. said, “1 want some bromide of potash, and 1 want, liypoplios phiteaof iron and some soda.” “Bless my cars !” exclaimed Aunt Nes bitt. “I have no money; will you buy them? I have no appetite; I can’t, sleep.” “That’s according to" all rules of ro mance,” said the old lady. “1 told you I was vain,” wont on Vera. “I do not caro to grow ugly. I mean to keep my good looks until I am forty seven; ’’ "I will buy you a ten of soda and tho other stuff,” said M.ins Nesbitt,. “But you are a disappointment to me, Vera; you are not a bit of a heroine.” “I am not a heroine, lam a woman— that’s better,” returned Vera. Miss Nesbitt went on with her crochet in silence for some time. Who lmd not been so near shedding tears for twenty years. Suddenly she threw her work on j the floor, regardless ol the havoc Seraph immediately proceeded to make of it. She marched up to Vera, looking as if she were about to trite her; stooped, kissed the girls forehead, and stalked out of the room. Vera knew now that she had been given a place iu that long sealed heart. She let herself cry a little, glad to be loved. She had no mind to shut her eyes against a gleam of light because she could not have the sun. The next day was dreary and windy. Vera was sent off several miles iu the close carriage to inquire after a sick friend of Aunt Nesbitt’s. Tho old lady had a cold, and did not dare venture out. As Miss Nesbitt sat alone in the library, an hour later, her footman entered to an nounce a visitor. “Who is it?” she asked, with asniff, not for tho visitor, but forced from lior by her cold. “He wouldn’t give any name, ma’am; he said you did not know him,” was the answer. “Let him come in,” said Miss Nesbitt. Miss Nesbitt was accustomed to this. Strangers often called upon her to solicit aid for what they generally styled some philanthropic scheme. Blie expected such a guest now. As the door opened she began to sneeze. Nobody sneezed to the extent that Miss Nesbitt did when she had one of these colds. “Sixteen times,” said she, aloud. “I sneezed thirty-four this morning without stopping.” She looked up, and saw before lier a young man with one of the finest, grand est faces she had ever set eyes on. She was so surprised that she thought aloud. “You cun not be a philanthropist 1” “On the contrary,” said her visitor, with a pleasant laugh, “I am the most sel fish man alive.” “I always wanted to see him,” replied the old lady, not in tho least abashed. “Pray sit down.” “I must tell you my name first, madam. Perhaps when yon have heard it you will regret your invitation.” “Dear me, who are you ? Mephist opheles or the—the . It would not be polite to name him.” “lam Moore Itivington.” “The douce you are,” thought surprised Aunt Nesbitt. “I have only lately discovered that—- that Miss Raymond wat hero.” “I thought you were safe in India, sit,” “The appointment I expected was de layed. lam really going now, but I could not resist the temptation of coming here first. I wished to see you, madam; and ” “You cannot see her,"again interrupted Miss Nesbitt. “I promised her mother that.” He rose, and commenced walking rap idly up and down; commencing several sentence sand finishing none. “Sit down,” said tiie cld lady. “You fid :ot me! Sit down! we will each hear what the other has to say.” Even this was better than Mr. Itiving tou had expected. He sat down and spent a long hour with her. When lie took his leave he though forced to go without seeing Vera. The next morning Miss Nesbitt handed Vera a note. “Go to your room and lead it,” she waul. “Ask me no questions, for I've nothing to ten. ’ Vera know the handwriting. Her hands and heart alike trembled as she opened the note. It was put a few lilies of farewell; a promise to be true, and all that. Miss Nesbitt had so far relented as to allow him to write it; but slio would not break her promise to Mrs. Raymond, and he had left without seeing Vera. The letter was something, however. Vein's eyes, ns she road it, were blinded by happy tears. "Yes, 1 will be true to you, Mooib! True forever.” * * * Two years passed away I Two whole years! Vera remained by choice with .Miss Nes bitt. Tho time sped on- slowly, very slowly, to Ver.i; but slio never despaired and never doubted. Moore Kivingtou’s name was never mentioned between aunt and niece, but Miss Nesbitt know tliut the girl hail not changed. Once they wore surprised by a visit from Mrs. Raymond, llut slio could not get Vera to go back with her- which hail no doubt been the object of her unex pected descent. Within a month of her departure there came two letters from her, one to Miss Nesbitt, one to Vera, and a local newspaper. In the newspaper was the announcement of Moore Rivington's marriage in India; and tlm letters confirmed it and gave a few particulars. The young bride was an heir ess. "I hope you will come to your senses now, Vera,” wrote, somewhat heartlessly, Mrs. Raymond. “I trust you have some gleam of womanly pride left. Mr. Os borne is still free; lie asks after you often. I attempt no persuasion; I know yourob slitniey too well.” The letter to Miss Nesbitt pointed out that she was tlm only person who could influence Vera; and begged her to try to show Vera how wise it would be to take this rich man. Miss Nesbitt received these letters in the morning. At night she spoke to Vena, and Vera listened, white uml cold as a marble image. “Please let me alone," was all slio said. “Don’t be afraid, I shall bear it. I could not have believed it; I can baldly believe it; but I suppose it is true. You lived, Aunt Nesbitt, I ahull live. Death is very cruel, it will not come to tlioso who want, it.” Before she went to rest Miss Nesbitt, wrote a letter to Moore Itivington, for she knew his address. Her letter was very curt “Moore Itivington - I shall expect the money 1 entrusted you with to bo paid back to my bankers without delay. I con gratulate you on your marriage, and wish you just the happiness you deserve.” Slie was not surprised. When she found that. Vera proved faithful to her love, she lmd known, she said now, that the man would fail. “Fate likes to arrange; matters so,” she thought. “Truth and falsehood mostly .got thrown together. There must always be one heart broken.” A week later Miss Nesbitt wont abroad with her grandniece.- Miss Nesbitt took Vera straight to Italy. 1 cannot describe to-you the six months that followed. Vera had not even the comfort of being ill there are erisises in life whore physical pain and weakness be come a blessing no such relief reached Vera. She maintained an litter silence in regard to herself. Even Aunt Nesbitt dared not intrude upon her sorrow. She never looked in the girl’s face without a pang at the change. It was not that Vera grew thin or pale or ugly. She lmd never been so beautiful. But 0I1! tho utter hope’essness, tho lack of purpose, the ter rible inanition. Aunt Nesbitt read it all. She knew this was a wound which would never heal. , Vera might live to have a sort of stony crust grow over her broken heart, but the wound would burn audache under it. No confidences took place be twoon them. What could bo said V Now and then iu the middle of tho night Miss Nesbitt would be roused from sleep by Ve la’s entrance into the room, and at those moments Miss Nesbitt feared for tho girl’s mind. “Tell me again that it is true,” she would whisper. “Let 1110 hear you say it, for I cannot believe—l cannot believe,” What passed during these night watches made no difference in their lives. The interludes were never alluded to after; it would seem that Vera herself did not re member them. Miss Nesbitt felt as if she were living her own awful grief .over again, old as she was. From Rome to Naples, ou to Sicily, with a pleasant party which they joined; up by steamer to Genoa; by tho Corni che road to Florence for a while, and then went over the St.Gotlmrd into Switz erland. They had been at Interlachen just a week when a telegram from London was delivered to Miss Nesbitt. “Moore Riv ington to Miss Nesbitt: —Come to me. They think I am dying.” That was all. Save an appendage address—a house iu some terrace near Hyde Park. Mr. Itivington might lmvo behaved ill, indeed it was to be hoped some punish ment had overtaken linn; but Miss Nes bitt was not one to uegloot the call of the dying. “You have somo bad news !” cried Vera as her aunt approached her with tho tele gram. “Do not hesitate to tell me, aunt. You know that I can bear anything.” And Miss Nesbitt put the telegram into her hand. I dreamed last night that he had come,” muttered Vera. “I dreamed he hud come.” Some blessed vision it had been, in which he came to claim her; to prove that he hud been always faithful. Aunt Nes bitt knew of such dreams; she knew also what the awakening was. What wo live through, we men and women. Vera was past tears. She looked like a ghost, but she could thiuk and act. “We can go to-night,” she said. "We cun go to-night.” She worked constantly did half the packing, in spite of Maria’s expostulations. At six o’clock they were speeding away. It was like a horrible nightmare, that journey, to Aunt Nesbitt, What must it have been to Vera ? On— on -Strasbourg —Paris— down to Calais as fast as steuni could carry them. They crossed the Channel and were whirling away towards London. They spoke little; sometimes Aunt Nesbitt lield Vera’s hand or stroked back her hair; but what words were possible ? “We will go to the Westminister Ho tel,” Miss Nesbitt said, when the train drew up CliaringCrosn Station and Thom as came round to open the door. Vera touched her. “No, aunt, no ! To him hist. Even now we uiuy be too late. ’ “f am afraid. You are so tired—” “To him first,” repeated Vera. “Guta cab for me,” Alias Nesbitt said to Thomas, “You and Maria will go to tho hotel with the luggage,” Away they drove in the direction given -the house in the terrace near Hyde Park. It Was a beautiful morning. Na ture looked ns cruel lessbe ever does when we suffer. The carriage stopped at last. “You must wait here while I go in.’’ Auut Nesbitt said, “1 must see -tve can’t toll; we might bo sent buck; she may be hero.” "Oil, aunt, let me. let roe sen him I" implored V era. “It will be our last meet ing on earth.” But she sat still in the carriage while her aunt went in. "Mr. Rivingtnn is better, ma'am,” the landlady said, who met her in the hall as the servant opened the door. “Miss Nis liitt, l think you are expected.” “Is—is—Who is with him ?’’ asked Miss Nesbitt. “Only the nurse.” “Where is his wife that she's not with him. “His wife ! Dear ma'am I Mr. Riv ing has no wife, lie is not married." Aunt Nesbitt walked into the sick room, nodding her head iu self communing. A word with the patient, and she returned to bring Vera. “It was all a lie, my dear,” she said; “we have been worrying ourselves for naught,. I thought, when I Vo) tin tered to help him with tlmt money that I could not be mistaken iu liini. lie is very ill, but ha is hot married; never has been. And I’d wager my life that the report was concocted by your worthy mother.” They went, to the shaded room. Oil the bed lay a pale, wasted form; his feeble arm stretched out in welcome. "Vera I Vera I” Vein knelt down and laid her head upon his bosom. Tho arms fell, not. clasping her, nud she looked up. He had' fainted. Rut Vera’s ever-haunting dream was re alized— Moore lmd come back to her. It was that curt letter of Miss Nesbitt’s that had brought him home. He was prospering in India beyond his most san guine expectations; but when that letter came he sailed for home as soon as his business affairs allowed him, and was ta ken ill en route. Miss Nesbitt had him moved to her own home, and she nursed him back to health, Vera helping. Miss Nesbitt gave more substantial help than that she settled a good income 011 Vera, And, the wedding took place, Mrs. Raymond having the grace not to oppose it. “I don't like to part with her, Moore,” said Miss Nesbitt; “but what must he, must be. And when the large fortune you talk of is made out there—mind and don’t he above a year or two over it—you must both come home again and live near me." “Yes, dear Aunt Nesbitt, we will,” said Moore. “It is a bargain.” CATuMxi'7~ The rules of politeness are not at vari ance with the principles of morally. Whatever is really impolite is immoral. Wo have no right to offend people with our manners or conversation. Wo have no right to deal with or be iulluenced by gossip about the people we meet, Their private affairs are none of our business. If we believe a man to be unfit compatiy for us, then we must not invite him; but if wo should happen to meet him where he has been invited by others, we must treat him civilly. If we know a man or wo man to be a grave offender, we must not ihink of using that knowledge to iujui't him or her, unless we know it is absolutely needful for the protection of others The greatest and best men in the world have more or less been assailed with calumny. The purest and noblest do not always es cape it. We cannot see any way to inves tigate -as a rule we must disregard—all slanders. Whore very great offences be come notorious, the offenders must always bo excommunicated. 111 all of the other cases we must give every one the benefit of a doubt; also apply charitable construc tions, live and hope for the best, and con sider every one innocent until he is proven guilty, ns we would otherwise often find that wo had spoken too hastily. EULOU F 7i*V \VOMAN. How can the rose grow without sun shine ? How can the violet bloom on the salty soil ? Lo ! women are flowers that are always becoming more beautiful and fragrant the more they are guarded and cared for. But men should be keepers in the garden of beiluty; they may rejoice themselves in the fragrance of the flowers, but they may not rumple them with their bauds. Just as the weed is rooted from the flower bed, so should all that is base and common be removed far away from tho neighborhood of woman. Tread upon the rose with the feet and its thorns amaze thee. Make thyself of thine own accord a stave to a woman, mid she will not bear it, but will herself bow before thee, and iu thankful love look up to thee as her lord; make a woman by force a slave and she will bear it still less, but will seek by craft and cunning to obtain dominion over time. For the empire of love is tho em piro of contradictions; the wiseman marks this iuul acts accordingly. The more one has to do with women, the more one learns to know them, ami the more one learns to know them the more one learns to love them; ami the more one loves them-, the more one is loved again —for every true love finds its response, and the highest love is tlio highest wisdom. The BacheijOk.— “Oh, who would an old baelelorbe, to roam in this wide woild j alone”--no one. A bachelor is even more miserable than an old maid; for ho lias 110 one to perform for him the various domestic offices which she can perform for herself. None but the married man has a home in his old age. None has friends then but he; none but he knows and feels the solace of the domestic hearth; none but lie lives anil freshens in his green old age, amid the affections of his children. There is no tear shed for 1 the bachelor; there is no ready hand and kind heart to cheer him in his loneliness and bereavement: there is none in whose eyes he can see himself reflected, and from whose lips he can receive the unfailing as surances of care and love. No. Tho old bachelor may be courted for his money. He may eat, and drink, and revel, as such things do; and ho may sicken and die in an hotel or garret with plenty of attend ants about him, like so many cormorants waiting for their prey. But he will never know what it is to be loved, and to live and die amid a loved circle. He can never know the comforts of Ac dowcotic lire- I bide. MISCELLANEOUS ITEMSi Porittanmlf rest is not expected on thd road, but at tlte eml of tint journey.' The good man’s life, like the mountain top, looks beautful L/eeaitso it, is near to lieaveu. He went imcfc on his own true love, fie i ansa she ate onions, and the jury uixhl her $:l,200 damages; In Columbus, if a young man nfteaia aft moquet, young ladies caress the flange of his ear with a mallet. B Haute philanthropist Ims poisoned tint Rochester dog tlmt had learned to sing a W accompaniment to a piano, 8 Out in Montano, when they staff a man down 101 ltn rt barrel, tltej ifpoai. W f hi., appearance iu a now role.” Wisconsin won’t let clergymen kiss tho bride any more, and fees have jumped from 50 cents to $5. With some people cremation is only a question of time. If it don’t ooWfe iu thij world it is sure to come in the next, When a young lady hits a gettfSmi over the head with Iter sunshade, in Ken tucky, they say he was parasoled.” ■•l’liey flroil two shots at him,” wrote an lush reporter; “the first shot killed Inin, but the second shot was not fatal.” NO. 8. A German, being asked how much (ginr kraut ho had put' tip for winter use, ho replied: “I'se not got much: little more ua> leu barrel, shnst for sickness. "Wlmt kind of sassages is them ?’ v queried an old lady of the young man of literature and peanuts, as he passed through tho train selling buuuuus. The man who cares for nobody, and 1 for whom nobody ernes, lies nothing to live* tor that will pay for keeping of soul and l body together. A I’iqtta girl who had a quarrel with a lover remarked to a friend that “she wasu t on squeezing terms With that' fmuth any more.” ’The j dlnr in Chicago the other day treated all his prisoner* ton drive. He took them iu a wagon from tho old jail to tho dew one. A Chinaman thus describes a trial iu our" courts: One man is silent, another bilks all the time, and twelve wise men condemn! tho man who has not said'a'wVmiJ Susie Liberty, of La Crosse, has thirteen' lovers, and every one of them exclaims,. "Give me Liberty or give mo death 1 Aud she’s a redheadedgirl at that. A marriage was broken up in Duluth 101 l ll < young man making an unexpected enil! and finding the poodle dog playing witlu his true love’s glass eye. A fortune teller has predicted that Mark Twain will die this year—but he is ouly going to start a paper, which ii pretty close for the fortune-teller. “Have you Blasted Hojies ?” linked a young lady of a librarian with a handker chief tied over Ills jaw. “No, ma’am,”’ said he, “it’s only blasted toothache.” A lady once Vicing asked what slur thought was a good remedy for bee stings,, said she had never found out. anything better than to keep away from tho bees, A mother advised her dangter to oil her 1 hair; and fainted flat away when that dam sel replied,. “Oil, no 111a; ,it spoils tho> gentlemen’s vests. ” An editor of many words characterizes : a self-puffing “popular ballad singer” as “a large-sized fraud, a penurious, puffin,-- up bag of gassy egotism.” In California, slylisli young men nro known, by the length of the alligator boobs which they wear at Imlls. A young man who really cares about liis looks wears boots > a yard loug. A Mississippi druggist is selling a drug to negroes under a pledge that it will I oonitu't their wool into long straight bail. Tho papers say he is doing a brick busi ness. Collins Graves, who rode so fast down 1 the Mill River valley to warn the people of approaching danger, is said to be tlio first milkman who ever ran away, from 1 water. It occurred to a Danbury scholar, while writing a composition, last week, to makp,, the remarkable statement: that l iin-ox does not taste ns good us an oyster, hut it can run. faster.” “How do you like Slmkspeare V” said a blue-stocking young lady to an old river captain. "Don’t like her at ull, madam; she burns too much wood and carries too, little freight.” The reason an urchin gave lor being Into, at school Monday was Unit the boy in tlio next house was going to have a dressing down with a bed-cord, unit he waited to hear him liowl. Wo hear of men confessing on tlieir bed to the crimes of murder, abduc tion and incendiarism, but whoever heard of a dying mail confessing to stealing pa pers? "Nobody! Death cannot scale (fiat man. * - ... Yon may talk yourself into a bronchial affection, but you can’t convince a Ver mont woman that there won’t be a death iu the family if she dreams of seeing a hen walking a picket fence. A Parisian musical dictionary defines a shout to be “an unpleasant noise produced by overstraining the throat, for which great sinners arc well paid, mid small chil dren well punished. An undertaker in New York advertise , “Godins made to order—how’s the time to get up clubs. “This is about as ghastly in its humor as the undertaker’s sign board in Bellofonte, Pa. “Collins nnulo and repaired. A window full of pot-plants suddenly de seeuded into the streets, Monday morning, tilling the back, bosom and hair of an elderly party with bulbs, earth, thorns and hairpins. As soon as ho recovered his ! speech lie stated that ho was a pilgrim and i a stranger, but he'd be d—d if heconldu t i lick tlie man who touched off that powdei. Rather an unfortunate teacher was that i one who, iu Haverhill, Mass., undertook Ito chastise a boy pupil. She found hcr i self unequal to the task, as tlie boy earns j very near chastising her. She called in | lhe lad’s father to assist, and this trenien- I dons youngster proved too much for both |of them. Milder measures were adopted, i and finally the youth consented to take his Hogging, if lie could have his choice from a litter of puppies iu the neighbor hood. The lawyers of Indianapolis are tortur ing their brains over an extraordinary ; problem. Some years ago a lady of that i city was married, and four mouths there after separated from her husband, was divorced and married in a month, and four mouths thereafter gave birth to a child by her first husband. Quite recently tint second husband procured a diV<'fee and the custody of the. child was nwaifte.it-. him. Nov comes the first, husband and ’’claims the cimu. bho is entitled to Its j possession.’